A Long Awaited Homecoming
by yellowspraypaintedsmiles
Summary: After the events of Captain America:The Winter Soldier, Steve and Sam Wilson have found Bucky, and Steve is attempting to integrate him into the team. Bucky seems to be doing better than anyone expected, but when Steve is kidnapped with no leads, Bucky's mental state is revealed, leaving the remaining Avengers and Co. to deal with his meltdowns, all while trying to save Steve...
1. Chapter 1

His heartbeat was the only thing he could hear, the steady rush of blood in his ears drowning out whatever else there was. The in between state he found himself in was fuzzy, like the moments between waking and sleeping, a feeling he had long since forgotten. The disorientation worried him, the unfamiliarity of the feeling making him nervous. It took a moment to remember how to open his eyes, and he only found himself staring at a white tiled ceiling with stark fluorescent lights beaming back at him. Blinking slowly, he tried to move but felt pressure at his arms and legs and could only manage to flop his head tiredly to the side, drips and monitors coming into focus, a steady beeping slowly become decipherable over his heartbeat. A click and a creak caused him to reorient, turning his head to face the other way, a just-shut door framing a man in a white coat.

"Ah, I see you are awake now Mr. Rogers. It is a pleasure to have you with us sir. I'm sure we'll be good friends for the duration of your stay."

"Hey, you don't like it here and we'll just find a little apartment somewhere. We've talked about this, remember? You feel uncomfortable you talk to me and we'll figure something else out, right?" Steve's smile was almost too genuine to be real, but with what memories he had, James knew it was nothing but sincere. Nodding and swallowing, too nervous to remind Steve that he'd said this a hundred times a day for the past week, James looked up, the metal and glass of the towering building in front of him stretching impossibly high towards the sun. Steve was still watching him, waiting for him to make the first move, he knew, so James made sure his face was neutral and stepped forward towards the automatic doors that led into the gleaming minimalistic lobby of Stark Tower.

Steve nearly ran into Bucky as he stopped suddenly just inside the doors, his dark hair still hanging in his face as he slowly swept his eyes back and forth across the room, taking in the reception area and workers milling around, or else the people pooling in front of the elevators, waiting to go up to their offices, dress ranging from starched suits of corporate workers, to lab coats pulled over the t-shirts worn by yawning scientists just coming back from coffee runs after all-nighters in the labs. It was an odd mix to look at, at first, but it was how Stark liked to run things, or Ms. Potts, Steve supposed, and as SI was a multi-billion dollar company then who was he to criticize?

Nervously watching Bucky, Steve waited to see if he would take it in stride and continue or turn and walk out. It was hard to tell with Bucky. No, with James. He had to call him James now. James didn't like being called Bucky, felt it was intruding on the person Bucky used to be. Didn't feel right taking the name of a man he hardly remembered being. Steve was alright with calling him James, it was one of the first things he had opened up about, admitting that he was having difficulty dealing with identifying memories and identity was an ongoing issue. But it was progress, talking about it at all. And Steve would take what he could get.

James seemed to shrug off his momentary pause, glancing back at Steve questioningly, and Steve nodded towards the reception desk, taking the lead and nodding to the secretary stationed there and slipping through the concealed door beside the desk into Tony's private elevator, tugging James gently behind him, not wanting to release his wrist lest he slip back out into the New York crowds. James was quiet on the ride up, but seemed to vibrate a little, with anxiety or excitement Steve couldn't tell, so he offered a grin, receiving a small twitch of a smile in return, the most he could hope to get in return. It was going well so far.

The elevator doors opened and Steve took one step forward before making a choking noise and trying to turn around. Before Steve could block him James slid around him, eyes widening when he saw what Steve had jumped at. He couldn't rightly tell how big the room they had entered was, as everything was draped in red, white, and blue streamers. It was a little dizzying.

"Surprise! It's a welcome home party! Well, a welcome-to-the-home-you've-never-known party."

James heard Steve sigh heavily in exasperation when a man approached from amid the streamers, decked out in an American flag suit, raising a glass of some sort of bluish party drink in greeting. James tilted his head at the guy, average height and weight but with the presence of a much larger man, a strangely tailored beard adorning his chin. Raising an eyebrow at Steve, James gave him a look.

"This is Tony Stark. He's our... host, I guess," Steve introduced, looking cowed by the decorations. Chuckles came from a corner of the room, where a few other people stood, one of them saying "I told you he'd hate you for this" but the man, Tony, pretended not to hear them.

"I'm pretty sure, no, I'm _positive_ that we talked about not overdoing this," Steve spoke through clenched teeth, visibly stiff. Tony cocked his head to the side and waited a pause, then shaking his head.

"No luck buttercup, can't recall any such conversation."

"Oh really? Because I am pretty sure JARVIS must have it recorded. JARVIS?" Steve looked up at the ceiling.

"My apologies Captain Rogers, but I would be in direct violation of my coding if I were to provide evidence contradicting Master Stark." Steve rolled his eyes at the automated British accent, then his gaze caught on how Bucky(James) had stiffened and clenched his jaw at the sound of JARVIS's disembodied voice. Raising a hand to grab his shoulder, Steve hesitated before softly resting his hand against James's arm.

"Hey, hey it's fine, that's just JARVIS, he's like a computer butler, it's normal here, I promise it's fine-"

"Yeah. Okay." Bucky spoke stiffly, but didn't exactly react otherwise. The others in the room drew closer, watching the newcomer closely, but James gave nothing away. Steve was shifting from one foot to the other, obviously trying to gauge his friend's mood. Tony, for once, was quiet, realizing that the joke wasn't being taken well.

They were saved from the awkward silence by the ding of the elevator behind them, admitting a familiar face.

"Ah. I see you beat me here Captain."

"Agent," Steve smiled thankfully as Coulson stepped into the room, "Good to see you again. Can I introduce you? This is Bu- uh, James."

Coulson extended a hand, which James stared at, but didn't take.

"I thought you said this Coulson guy was dead." Bucky stated flatly, still staring at the offered hand. Steve spluttered while Coulson rescinded the hand.

"I was. For a few seconds, anyways. It was classified. I'm officially alive again. And now that SHEILD isn't employing me, I'm taking Stark's money and continuing work with a specialized team. I monitor superhuman threats and assess the urgency of such threats. That's where the Avengers come in. If you end up consulting with them, we'll be working together in the future."

James continued to stare impassively, but Coulson just kept the mild expression he was famous for and didn't seem intimidated. Steve was getting nervous at James's silence, and decided to get out before something was broken.

"_Well_, as much fun as this party was Tony, I think I'll just show James our floor. If you don't mind," He squeezed around Coulson into the elevator, looking back to see if Bucky was following. After a brief hesitation and one more glance around the room, his eyes pausing on the occupants, Bucky stepped into the lift, the doors closing smoothly behind him.

Silence sat heavy with the remaining crowd, before Bruce sighed and took off his glasses to wipe them on his shirt.

"I told you the streamers were too much."

"Hey blame Barton for the streamers, I wouldn't have been able to get them that high!" Tony protested, pointing accusingly. Clint narrowed his eyes and was about to reply when Coulson jumped in.

"Did any of you stop to consider that although he was one of the Howling Commandos nearly 90 years ago, he's been forced to work as a terrorist and thought himself to be a Russian assassin until very recently? Throwing the patriotism in his face isn't going to endear you to him anymore than it makes Steve roll his eyes at you. It isn't exactly subtle."

"To be fair sir, origin aside, he _was_ a Russian assassin."

"Yes, thank you Natasha. I think that a little good ol' America themed welcome party was a perfectly good idea, I can't be blamed for Bucky's bad mood." Tony was smug, looking towards the others for confirmation. Instead Natasha glared at him and Thor avoided eye contact, Clint, surprisingly, being the first to speak up.

"I feel like as nice as your 'party' idea was, Steve was right in saying that we should keep it low key and not make a big to-do about Bucky coming here. Having your head messed with puts everything out of whack, and he's had his head messed with a lot." Natasha put her hand on his arm briefly, before leaving for her own quarters, the rest following her out until only Coulson and Thor remained, Coulson giving Tony the evil eye before dumping some papers for him to sign on the table and making his own exit. Tony raised an eyebrow at Thor.

Grinning sheepishly, the thunder god rumbled, "If the others have no wish to further celebrate, I should endeavor to assist you in ridding yourself of all the delightfully blue refreshments you had prepared."

"At least two of us know how to party," Tony said, as he led the way over to the bar.


	2. Chapter 2

With a growl ripped from his lungs James lunged forward into the dark, grabbing the hands holding his shoulders down and gripping them with enough force to snap a man's arm, slamming the intruder back onto the floor. Heaving, James held the unresisting attacker, pressing his metal elbow into his throat. The man beneath him didn't move, didn't resist, didn't even gasp in protest or surprise, and it was the silent acceptance that got James to focus in the dark, the familiar features of the man beneath him becoming visible as his eyes adjust.

Groaning in frustration, James released Steve and staggered back, his knees buckling as they hit the bed backwards, forcing him to sit. Embarrassed, he dropped his head into his hands, listening to Steve quietly pick himself off and brush off his clothes. It was silent a minute, and in the dark behind his hands James held his breath, petrified. He attacked Steve. Steve. They'd toss him out for sure now. It wasn't the first time it had happened but usually it was a reflex to Steve grabbing his hand, or touching his shoulder when he wasn't looking. He had full on taken Steve down this time, starting to choke him.

He hid behind his hands, listening to gauge what Steve would do. The last thing he expected was for Steve to hesitantly rest a hand on his shoulder, and then sit down on the bed beside him. The blonde sighed tiredly, then draped an arm across James's shoulder and rested his head on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, and James jerked away in surprise.

"You're sorry? For what? I just fucking flipped you over and tried to break your arm!" James jumped up, moving away from the bed, trying to guess what sort of game Steve was playing. But he just stayed seated, looking so sad and tired that James practically hit himself in the face. This was Steve. Of course he'd blame himself. In his few, fuzzy memories of the man, this was exactly the picture he had painted in his head of Steve.

With a shrug, Steve smiled apologetically and said, "I should have known better, but you were talking in your sleep, and you were clearly distressed, I could hear you from the other room. I couldn't-... I couldn't just leave you to that. I know what it's like to be stuck in your head somewhere you don't want to be." At this admission, he looked down, and James relented, sitting back down beside him on the rumpled bed. They were both quiet for a minute, just feeling each other's body heat through their touching shoulders.

"I know you were trying to help Steve," James said quietly, "You're with me to the end of the line. Wherever that may be. I know that."

Steve buried his face in James's shoulder, and James was suddenly reminded how backwards and messed up their lives were. He may have been working as a Hydra assassin for years, but at least he'd been conscious(kind of) and wasn't as out of his depth as Steve must be, not as far out of his own time. The strongest feelings he got from his furthest memories were those of protection, of looking out for Steve. He had been smaller then. But he was still small, on the inside, still just a kid, and so out of his depth but he was the last one to ever admit it or give in. James slung his arm around the man, so much bigger now than Bucky's memories told him he should be.

"You have nightmares too, don't you?" Steve moved back quickly, looking at James's face, wondering how he knew.

"You don't talk in your sleep or anything, but your heartbeat races and you wake up very suddenly. You don't even move, your breathing barely changes. But I know. I watch you sometimes," James hesitated, wondering if he should be telling Steve this. At Steve's confused look, he continued. "Sometimes, I can just tell I won't be able to sleep. And I... it helps. Watching you. Bucky remembers you like that, when you guys crashed at each other's apartments, squeezing into the same bed or both of you passing out on the couch. It made him feel better, I think, knowing where you were. He didn't worry about you when he knew where you were."

Glancing at Steve, James was dismayed to see that he had wet eyes, and panicked internally, wondering what he had said to bring the man to tears. Shaking his head, Steve took a few breaths before cautiously looking at James out of the corner of his eyes.

"I could, I mean, only if it would help you sleep, I could... stay here? Just for tonight," he added, rushed, "Just to see if it helps. But if you'd rather be alone, I, I get that too. Whatever could help you?" He was hopeful, that much was obvious, and trying very hard not to show it. For such a large man, Steve could look so helpless and it made James's chest ache. Nodding, James scooted back and pulled the covers aside for Steve, smiling weakly as he jumped forward and burrowed himself into James's bed, sneaking a hand out to rest on James's shoulder as they both settled. James barely let himself breathe, nervous at Steve's proximity. He wanted to remember, wanted desperately to remember Steve, and Bucky, as they used to be. Wanted to know what was so great about Bucky that he had earned Steve's loyalty so completely. Steve fell asleep so quickly that James grew jealous, jealous that Bucky was so trusted by this man that even the knowledge that his friend's body had been manipulated and tortured and was completely devoid of anything that had made him Bucky but Steve was so comfortable in his presence despite that. He was jealous of himself. Listening to Steve breathing eventually let James's eyes grow heavy, the warmth at his back lulling him into the first dreamless sleep he'd had in... Nearly as long as he could remember.

"WOAH OKAY THEN," Sam loudly exclaimed from the doorway, holding both hands up in a nonthreatening gesture. Confused, Steve raised his head, still half asleep, wondering what Sam was doing in his room. Blinking awake, Steve realized this wasn't his room. Sitting up quickly Steve saw what was going on.

"Bucky! Gah, I mean James! Put the gun down! It's just Sam, Sam Wilson, you know Sam, come on please don't shoot him, you've been doing so good, it's okay, just Sam..."

James was staring with wild eyes at Sam, crouched on the bed in front of Steve, blocking Steve from Sam's direct line of sight. As much as the protection warmed Steve's heart, it was a valid concern that James would blow Sam's head off if he moved, a fact that Sam seemed aware of, as he was frozen in the doorway. He must have opened it and startled James awake. Steve frowned, wondering where James had gotten the automatic pistol in the first place. They were exercising a no-weapons-for-the-recovering-assassin regime, an exercise that clearly wasn't going so well. James was still watching Sam, but Steve could see the cogs turning slowly in his head, trying to sort out his thoughts and process ninety years' worth of convoluted memories to see if he had any of the stranger in the doorway.

Slowly, jerkily, James lowered the gun, not taking his eyes off of Sam, and Steve quickly pried the pistol from his hands, taking out the magazine and unloading it, clicking the safety on just in case. Sam lowered his hands and nervously glanced at Steve for an explanation. Steve put a hand on James's shoulder and he finally relaxed back onto the bed, murmuring an apology.

"No problem. What kind of morning is it when I'm not threatened by my flat mates, right?" Sam's forced cheerfulness made Steve give his disappointed face, easing out of bed, throwing the blankets back over Bucky, telling him to sleep a little longer, before he followed Sam out the door, making sure to take the gun with him.

Daring to let out his breath now that they were in the living area of the floor they shared in Stark Tower, Steve faced Sam, ready to apologize for Bucky, but Sam was already holding up a hand to stop him, anticipating his excuses.

"Hey man, I get it. I know, I should have knocked. We should make that a rule, especially for non-common areas. Knock before entering. Let's be honest, this isn't the first time he's tried to shoot one of us after waking him up, I'm beginning to think your boy isn't a morning person." Sam grinned when Steve grumbled about James not being 'his boy'. "What's that? Not your boy? You are kidding me right? I was looking for you and I find you not only in his room, but snuggled up in bed with him. You move fast man, I gotta hand it to you."

Steve knew Sam was joking but he still slapped away the offered high five, taking the bait.

"That isn't how it is and you know it! I would never take advantage, I mean, he isn't in the right frame of mind to consent to anything like, no, you're taking this the wrong way, it wasn't really anything like that, and I just STOP SMILING IT ISN'T FUNNY."

"It's kind of funny. You're lucky I'm not going to retell this story to Stark. It helps him sleep, right? And you? Having something familiar next to you?" Steve nodded at this, reminded that Sam worked with PTSD victims and survivors all the time. Sam continued, "If that helps then by all means keep it up. I agree that he isn't of any mind to consent to anything, so keep it G rated, alright?"

Steve huffed at him, moving into the kitchenette area to make coffee. Sam just laughed at him and followed, becoming more serious now.

"Honestly though, it worries me. It may help him fall asleep but what about when he wakes up? What if, even for a minute, he doesn't remember you and gets a hold of another gun and decides to blow out the brains of the stranger lying next to him? You can heal from a lot but that would kill even you. On top of that, how do you think he'd feel when he does remember you, and realize that the only person he trusts in this century is dead because he couldn't keep his shit together? You are the only person who can really manage him, the only guy who can keep him in check. He may tolerate me more than, I don't know, the Avengers, or those therapists you tried, but in no way is he opening up to me the way he does to you. If something happens to you then he is going to go right back to where he was when we found him. So just... be aware of that. For my sake, at least."


	3. Chapter 3

James and Steve were in the gym, working out. Or, Steve was working out while James alternated between watching and staring at the wall. After the first mishap, it had been agreed that having James punch and kick at inanimate objects was a 'bad idea', as his mind had trouble identifying them as inanimate objects and quickly put him into attack mode where he began punching and kicking decidedly more animate objects (see: Steve and Sam). But where Steve went, James went.

"It's been a week and I haven't seen James go anywhere other than his own room without Steve. I haven't even had a conversation with the guy," Tony huffed, watching the camera feed from the gym in his lab. Bruce hummed mildly behind him, clearly ignoring him in favor of reading the latest test results. Both of them jumped, however, when another voice joined the conversation, neither of them having heard anyone enter, JARVIS not having mentioned anything.

"There's a reason no one has left you alone with James. You're more likely to set him off than anyone else," Natasha was leaning against a lab table right next to them. Bruce had scrunched his eyes shut and Tony theatrically clutched his heart.

"Security breach!" He protested, glaring accusingly at the ceiling, blaming JARVIS. Natasha ignored him.

"I don't think that you've really understood that when everyone calls him unstable, they mean that he's _unstable_. I've tried talking to him, but Steve took me aside and gave a list of things I can't mention to him. It included everything I had wanted to ask. Talking to him about much more than the weather or what's for dinner is risky for anyone who isn't Steve."

"I wasn't planning on prying into his personal life," Tony protested weakly, Natasha giving him an unimpressed stare before he even finished his sentence.

"Yesterday you wanted to try detaching his arm remotely through JARVIS while he was napping to see if he'd notice. The day before you were telling anyone in hearing distance that you wanted to pick his brains on Russian weapons engineering."

"Okay, yes, maybe I could have worded a few things better, but I'm not _intentionally_ trying to make him kill me."

Natasha and Bruce shared a look, Tony pouting and turning, pressing buttons and playing with his hologram.

"Tony is right though. At least, he has a point. Bucky, er, James, isn't really adjusting much to living here if he's just moving back and forth from Steve's floor to the gym. Maybe some human interaction outside of Steve and Sam would be good for him? I'm no therapist, but he seems to be living almost exclusively in his head, and with his particular past? His memories? That can't be healthy." Bruce offered this without even glancing up, but Tony beamed anyways at the admission that he was right. Natasha was quiet and contemplative for a moment (Tony found her most frightening like this, but he'd never admit it), before nodding slowly.

"I'll mention it to Steve. Maybe a team dinner or something, we'd keep it small, and brief everyone on James's condition beforehand. Steve is a good anchor for him, but he's also the only person James has good memories of. New people might just be good for him."

This was a terrible idea. Taking James to a team dinner should definitely be classified as a 'bad idea'. He was good enough with just Steve and Sam, but there were only two of them, and even when James forgot who they were, he didn't freak out too much because the Winter Soldier was positive he could take out two people to defend himself. That was the way James explained it, anyways. Having James around anyone else was risky, he hadn't spoken for three hours after Natasha had just stopped by to say hello. Who knew what he'd be like with the whole team?

Granted, some days were much better than others, and so far this had been a good day. And so Steve agreed to the terrible idea.

He wrung his hands and paced outside of James's bathroom for the hundredth time, finally hearing the shower turn off. When James opened the door with a towel slung around his waist, Steve froze, as he always did, when he caught sight of the scars where his metal arm connected to his torso. They were extensive, and deep, and they were from the fall from the train. James caught him looking and winked jokingly, causing Steve to blush and turn while James went to get dressed. At least James was in a good mood.

"So, just to remind you, it's just the team, no one else is going to be there, just the team and Sam and you and me, alright? And you know that we can-"

"-Leave whenever I want, no pressure, if someone talks about something I don't like I should tell them, blah, blah, blah. I _know _Steve; you've said it ten times today. It's the only thing they've asked of me and they're letting me stay in their home, fully aware that I'm a trigger-happy psychopath. It's the least I can do," James mumbled the last bit, riffling through some drawers for a t-shirt. Steve was glad he was turned around so he didn't see Steve's expression. It broke his heart hearing how self-aware James was of his issues. It was better than ignorance, but they usually avoided talking so blatantly about it.

"You're no psychopath. The Winter Soldier may have been, but not by choice. Bucky Barnes never was though, and whoever you choose to be doesn't have to be, either," Steve spoke softly, reminding James, as he did everyday, that they'd figure it out. James turned and smiled sadly, before mockingly ruining the mood.

"You're going to make me cry, you're such a sweetheart."

Steve retaliated by punching him in the arm, but regretted it when his knuckles smacked against metal. You'd think he'd learn by now. James laughed it off and moved to the closet, evaluating the growing collection of zippered hoodies he had collected. Steve didn't see the appeal himself, he thought they looked like workout clothes, but if James was comfortable in them then he couldn't care less. James shrugged into a loose black one, grinning when he caught Steve's look at the hoodies.

"Just because you still dress like an old man…"

"Oh shut up. We're going to be late."


	4. Chapter 4

Steve and Sam sat on either of side of James, but the way they were angled made it seem like they were trying more to keep the others away from James, rather than the other way around. That's how it seemed to Tony, at least, who had seated himself directly across from the man in question, watching him watch the table. The soldier had his stringy hair pulled back, studiously ignoring Tony. Natasha had chosen to sit at the head of the table, and no one was about to challenge her for it. Bruce had been suckered into sitting next to Tony, but was typing on a tablet under the table.

Clint and Thor could be heard banging around in the kitchen in the next room, trying to transfer everything out of the takeout boxes and into dishes, giving the whole thing a falsely homemade feel. James was the first to break the thick silence at the dining table, clearing his throat.

"What are we having for diner, exactly?" He didn't sound truly interested, and didn't look up, but Tony cocked his head.

"We ordered in Thai food. You probably haven't tried it before, it's like-"

"I've had it. Steve and I went out to Thai last week." James nodded, finally lifting his head to look at Steve for confirmation, receiving a warm smile in reply.

Tony just huffed. So much for presenting a new experience. Sam had gathered everyone before Steve and James had come up, listing specific triggers they knew to set James off, certain topics that could lead James into a memory lapse. The best part of it was, there was no telling what could set him off. And there was always the chance that he'd be perfectly fine and could talk openly about his past experiences with no flashbacks or panic attacks or lapses in memory. But there was just no telling. Tony had no choice but to test that.

"Would a fridge magnet stick to your prosthetic?" Tony's blatant question made Steve jumped a bit in his seat and he spun to stare at Bucky, trying to gauge how he'd take it. Sam glared across the table at Tony. _We literally just talked about this_, his expression said. Bucky had frozen, not in some kind of flashback but rather confusion, as if he didn't know how to react to Tony being so forward, used to people walking around him on eggshells.

"Um, probably? It's made of metal, so yeah. I wouldn't call it a prosthetic though." James seemed as confused by his own answer as he was by the original question. Not missing a beat, Tony whipped some magnets out of his jacket, leaning across the table and sticking them to the outside of James's sweatshirt, the magnets, sure enough, clinging to the metal arm underneath. Steve sighed at the Avenger's themed magnets, a rubber version of the Iron Man mask and the Captain America shield. Tony hummed in appreciation, and Bruce sighed heavily next to him.

James shifted around, turning his arm so he could see the magnets. The faintest smile touched his lips, before he shrugged and looked towards the kitchen, where Clint and Thor were entering, laden with food. They set the dishes down on the table before taking their seats, Steve cringing when Thor greeted James ("Hello Soldier of Winter, it is good to see that you have yet to slaughter any in the tower"), but once again James surprised him by smiling faintly, as though unsure whether to be amused or offended.

Steve seemed to be the only one still nervous about the outcome of this dinner, as Sam had relaxed after realizing that James wouldn't flip out at Tony being an ass, digging into the plate in front of him. Chatter broke out as everyone loaded their plates, all of them generously offering James a bit of everything. Thor offered everything at least twice, and James seemed truly fascinated by the way Thor spoke. Steve felt his heart twinge a bit, thinking about how the old Bucky would have liked Thor as well. But the new Bucky was doing all right.

Natasha and Clint were trying to convince Thor to spar with them, and he was fumblingly trying to politely refuse, as the assassins had wiped the floor with him (and his pride) the last time this had occurred. Tony quizzed Bruce about his latest test results, and Sam was making small talk with James, explained what spices went in the different dishes. It was… going well, to Steve's great confusion. He tensed up whenever Tony spoke to James, always asking something borderline triggering, but if James froze up it was more because he wasn't sure how to react to the man, rather than a flashback. It was bizarre to watch.

As was always the case when they were in the room together, it wasn't long before Tony started taking digs at Steve.

"Pass the salt, Gramps" and "Lighten up boy scout". James seemed genuinely off put by how Tony was speaking to Steve, until he figured out that Tony was joking, heavy sarcasm his default mode. Steve was probably the only one who could hear it, but James chuckled softly whenever Tony came up with some new, slightly insulting, nickname or other, and Steve was so grateful to hear him enjoying himself that he didn't retaliate. Much.

"If there's anything left over from this we'll let you take it to your floor, old man, just remind me to explain how a microwave works." Tony wasn't even looking at him anymore, just shoveling something into his mouth while tapping at a tablet he had resting on the table. Rolling his eyes, Steve replied.

"What a generous young man you are, what would I do with all this newfangled technology without a nice whippersnapper like you to explain it all to me." Tony choked, and Clint laughed at him. He sputtered and grabbed for water while Sam and Steve stared at James in unconcealed amazement, who was outright laughing, deep and raspy, like Steve remembered it.

"He _does_ realize that you're like, in your twenties, right?" James turned to Steve, who was still grinning at James, shook his head. Tony huffed.

"Twenties my ass, _you_ realize that you're both like ninety, right?"

"Technically we haven't been conscious that long, Steve has had a bunch of beauty rest and a sea salt scrub to keep him young. I have the joys of cryogenic sleep to thank for my own looks." James smirked, and Tony was speechless for a second. Clint and Thor were both laughing now, and Bruce was purposefully looking at the table, though Steve could see he was repressing a smile.

"You grew up in the thirties and forties, this in the twenty first century, and that makes you both ancient," Tony continued to argue. Steve and James shared a long-suffering look, and Steve was almost ecstatic. It was like Bucky was back.

"Well he's got us there, Steve."

"It seems he does, eh James?"

"I guess we'd better put our orders for our coffins in now, while we're still young. I'll leave the arm to you in my will," James offered Tony. Even Natasha was smiling now, and Sam was grinning ear to ear at how well James was doing. Tony could hardly get another word in edgewise the rest of the evening, all of them lingering long after the food was gone and making fun of each other. James and Clint were calling each other 'grandpa' and 'squirt' by the end of it, Natasha was getting along great with James (they kept comparing gun models and knives, which Steve felt was distinctly poor table conversation but he wasn't about to stop them either) and Bruce had gotten James to agree to come into the lab and let him scan the metal arm.

It was nearly midnight when Steve sensed James was slowing down, tired from the extensive socializing. Not wanting to push it more than they already had, Steve made them say their goodnights and headed down to his floor in the elevator, James humming tunelessly next to him. Sam was staying up to teach Thor poker, so James and Steve were on their own for the night.

James was exhausted, leaning on Steve as they made their way into the apartment, and Steve was just silently enjoying it while he could, this closeness that he had shared so easily with the old Bucky but James always seemed so wary of. James's eyes were drooping and Steve just pushed him until he was sitting down on the bed. James watched as Steve tugged his shoes off, only moving when Steve ordered him to get ready for bed. He was tugging on sweatpants when he heard James chuckle, turning to see him plucking the magnets off his arm, having forgotten they were there. James left the room for a minute and Steve paused, listening with his super soldier hearing as James padded barefoot into the kitchenette, hearing the distinct ping of magnets sticking to the refrigerator. James come back and tossed of his hoodie, shimmying down to boxer shorts before giving up and curling under the covers.

Steve paused next to the bed, unsure if he would be welcome tonight, but James just grunted and flipped the covers back without opening his eyes, leaving room for Steve to clamber in. Grinning, he did so, pulling James up against his chest, wrapping his arm under James's metal one, and pushing his nose into the dark hair in front of him.

"You did so good tonight. You were great. You did so well," Steve whispered to him, proud. James just hummed in response, drifting off. Steve couldn't help but hope that this was a sign of sudden improvement, and that he'd continue to only get better from here on out.

James had the worst nightmares that night than he'd had in weeks, waking screaming and clawing every time. Steve didn't dare sleep, just clung to him in the few quiet moments, wondering if human interaction, the team dinner, hadn't hurt him more than they could have anticipated. And the worst part was? James was back to where he'd been when Steve and Sam had just found him in the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

"I can't keep doing this," Steve's head was heavy, resting in his hands. Sam rested a hand on his back. "It's like, he was doing so well, having more and more good days, and now he's just…"

"As bad as he's ever been. Why don't you try and get some sleep while he's calm right now, I'll keep an eye on him. I know you've been sleeping even less than he has," Sam patted his back once, nudging him to make him get up, pushing him back towards his bedroom. It was a sign of how frustrated and tired Steve was that he didn't protest.

Watching to make sure Steve went to his room, Sam ran a hand over his eyes, just as exhausted as the other two, but without the super soldier serum to help him. It had been nearly a week since the dinner with the team, and James never slept more than an hour without wrenching himself out of bed shouting. They had JARVIS making sure there were no guns in the vicinity, and had restricted James's access to Steve's floor only. They had already gotten rid of kitchen knives, but Sam had no doubt that James could just as easily murder them with his bare hands.

The man in question was currently sitting stiffly on the couch in the other room, eyes closed, facing the wall, whispering in Russian under his breath. Sam just sat himself down across from him and waited. Half an hour passed before James went quiet, opening his eyes. The two watched each other for a minute, before James looked down, breaking eye contact.

"Where were you this time?" Sam spoke softly, not wanting to startle him.

"Cold War. This century thinks that there wasn't any real fighting. I was right in the middle of the fighting." He spoke with a monotone, not looking up. Sam nodded, not wanting to push. Cold War years were bad years, but he seemed to be more present than he had been an hour or two ago, when he had been taking swings at Sam, cursing him out in another language while Steve restrained him.

"Steve?" James's throat was raw, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I sent him to get some sleep while he could, he's just in the other room, if you need him?" James shook his head, so Sam continued, "Are you feeling up to eating anything today? I can make pancakes or something, what do you want?"

"Pancakes are fine."

Sam didn't really want to leave him alone, but thankfully James got up to follow him into the kitchen, watching him start to bang pans and get out quick mix. He seemed to become more aware as time went on, coming out of his… whatever they were. Sam was no expert. He worked with veterans, but James wasn't quite in that league. At least he was responding to questions with nods or shakes of his head, eating slowly but eating all the same, not flinching when Sam pulled up a chair next to him and dug into his own plate.

It was awful to watch James go through this; Sam thought he was an all right guy when he wasn't freaking out, but honestly? He was more worried about Steve. Steve took everything onto his own shoulders, took James's relapse as a personal failure. Blamed himself entirely for everything that had happened to his oldest friend. And it couldn't be healthy. Hell, none of this was _healthy_, let alone _normal_, and James's case was so far out of any norm that they could possibly compare it to that they didn't have anything to go off of. Sam doubted that he would ever recover completely, and at this rate he wondered if James would ever be fully functioning.

James couldn't be taken to a therapist, he was at least familiar with Steve, and somewhat so with Sam, but complete strangers he was likely to strangle them, especially if they pried into his thoughts. So professionals, anyone who might possibly know what they're doing, were out of the picture. And James didn't cooperate anyways, didn't want to revisit his memories, didn't want to hash out his old grievances. Privately, Sam agreed. James seemed to do best when he avoided his past entirely, interacted in the present and connected with people in the here and now. Sam knew that Tony and JARVIS were trying to hack into Hydra's old files, trying to find information that wasn't already destroyed, to try and figure out what exactly had been done to him, and they were looking as a personal favor to Steve, but no one dared tell James they were doing it. There was no telling how he'd take it.

The next two hours were like a game of operation, wanted to get somewhere but terrified of making the buzzer go off. Sam tiptoed around, trying to help James but at a loss of what to do. Steve came out to check on how James was doing and managed to coax him to bed, promising that he wouldn't let him hurt anyone. Steve and Sam avoided each other's eyes when Steve promised this, both of them uncomfortable that it was something they had to promise, but it was just about the only thing they could do to get James to rest.

Exhausted as the other two, Sam went to his own room to crash, and Steve nervously followed James, who once again threw back the covers, silently leaving an invitation for Steve, if he wanted to take it. Relieved that his friend was improving at least to the point where he was comfortable with this, Steve wedged himself at James's back, the warmth of another body easing them both to sleep.

In a room far away, two pairs of eyes watched the soldiers cling to each other in their restless sleeps. The monitor the soldiers were displayed on was just one of many, all of them glowing pale green and sickly in the dark room. One of the men in the room lit a cigarette, the brief flash of a lighter illuminating his sallow face and crooked nose.

"It is no use," the man spoke to his companion, his heavy accent warbling his words, "With ze other one there, e' is too… too aware. So worried for ze dark one that e' won't come out, won't be found alone. Ze plan is going to haf to be pushed back, very far back."

The other man, his eyes not leaving the screen, face still cast in shadow, merely grunted, untroubled by this.

"Then we'll just have to get him to come out and play then, won't we now?"


	6. Chapter 6

Steve's phone buzzed, and he shot up in bed, disrupting James as well, but luckily all James did was grunt and roll the other way. Scrambling for his phone, Steve grabbed for it and had to try three times before he swiped it correctly to answer.

"What?" He answered, his voice still raspy from sleep.

"We have an issue," Tony's voice was serious on the other end of the line. Shaking himself awake, Steve slipped out of bed and left the room, easing the door closed behind him so his talking wouldn't wake James.

"What kind of issue? What do you mean?" He blinked the tiredness out of his eyes, wondering what the hell was going on.

"The Avengers are being called in to California, there's some sort of emergency over there that the military isn't equipped to deal with," Tony said it all in the same breath, then answered Steve's question before he could ask it, "We didn't let the alarm blare on your floor because we didn't know how James would take it. Your choice as to whether you wake him up or not, but wheels are up in five minutes. Bring the Falcon, Rhodey and the War Machine are going to meet us there."

Steve quietly agreed to be up at the quinjet in five, then stood still for another moment, rubbing a hand over his face, before knocking on Sam's door, letting him know what was going on, and going to his own room to grab his uniform. On his way to the elevator he paused by James's door, peeking in, the room still dark and calm, becoming more familiar to him than his own, considering the amount of nights he ended up sleeping in there. James hadn't moved, for once enjoying a dreamless sleep.

Steve bit his lip; debating on whether to wake him up to let them know they were going. Chances were they'd be back within twenty-four hours, and James might be mad at him for leaving without telling him. But chances were equally as likely that James would demand to come and fight with them, and Steve couldn't let him do that yet. Maybe someday, but he wasn't stable enough yet. Sam cleared his throat behind Steve, tapping his wrist in imitation of tapping a watch to let him know they needed to go. Steve shut the door quietly, taking one last glance at the sleeping soldier, his metal arm glinting dully in the light coming from the doorway.

As the elevator shot up, Steve asked JARVIS to keep James on his floor, and to let him know where they'd all gone when he woke up. They strapped into the quinjet, Sam storing his Falcon gear and exchanging thumbs up with Clint, who was piloting. Thor stood at the open cargo door, Natasha seated close behind him, and they took off as Tony blasted beside them, all of them watching Stark Tower get smaller and smaller until it was gone.

He heard the sounds of a scuffle and ran, knowing exactly what he'd find. Skidding, barefoot, he turned down a dirty redbrick alley to see the two Roberts boys looming over little Steve Rogers, who glared up at them as though they didn't have him bloodied and on the ground.

"Hey, Roberts!" The two spun, then glared at him.

"Stay out of this Barnes, this punk ain't worth 'yur time," the taller one snarled, aiming him shoed foot at Steve's leg. The skinny little thing, supposedly nine to Bucky's eight, looked about six, tiny and blonde and the furthest thing from a fighter, but he acted like a real scrapper, and wouldn't back down from anything. Bucky stepped forwards.

"Come on now boys, your momma's not gonna like it if you go home with broken noses again, now," Bucky threatened, not looking away from Steve, who was avoiding his gaze and wiping blood from his lip. The bigger boys took a step back.

"Guess you ain't very smart Barnes, but if you could count you'd know that there's two of us," the older one retorted, but he didn't sound as confident as he should have for a kid with nearly twenty pounds on Bucky.

"I have Steve to be smart, I'm just a pair of fists, now run on boys, I'm getting real tired of this talking," Bucky drawled and he could see the look they exchanged before racing each other to the far end of the alley, scrambling to get away. Once he was sure they weren't coming back, he offered a hand to Steve, who ignored him and pulled himself up, drawing himself up to his full height, which still only brought the top of his head up to about Bucky's eye level.

"I didn't need your help Barnes," the blond spat, like a pissy cat. Bucky rolled his eyes.

"You'll thank me someday Rogers, or else you'll learn to stay out of fights." Steve glared at him for this, brushing dirt off his ragged trousers, mumbling about how he'd had it handled. Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Your momma asks you to watch out for me, doesn't she," Steve was quiet, not meeting Bucky's eyes.

"Uh, yeah? How'd you figure?" Bucky had never told him. Steve didn't answer, just squinted up at him, smiling shyly.

"'Cause you don't seem to like me that much yourself," he grinned, cheeky, and Bucky mocked being wounded.

"Now why'd you say something like that, kid? Huh? Maybe I love you, you're hurting my feelings here Stevie," Bucky grinned when Steve punched his arm, grimacing.

"You don't have feelings Barnes, I'm pretty sure of it. I can't ask you to ignore your momma though, so I guess I've got myself a bodyguard. Though I can handle myself," he added, drawing himself to his not-very-impressive full height. Bucky laughed.

"Bodyguard? Sure, I can do that. But you gotta call me Bucky then."

"Alright Bucky. I'm Steve," he offered his hand, serious for a kid.

"I know who you are," but he shook the hand anyways, smiling at the little scrapper.

James shot up in bed, gasping. He hadn't had that dream before. A memory? He turned to ask Steve, but the bed was empty, which was unusual. He almost always woke if Steve got up, and so he wandered out into the apartment, but no one was there.

"Steve? Where'd you go? Sam?" He looked around him, as if they'd be hiding.

"My apologies, Mister Barnes," JARVIS came from the ceiling, and James barely flinched this time, slowly becoming accustomed to the AI, "But Mister Rogers and Mister Wilson have been called out with the other Avengers to an emergency in Northern California. They appear to be nearly finished though, and Mister Rogers asked me to inform you that he would call as soon as everything was finished and they were on their way back. Do you require anything in the meantime, Mister Barnes?"

He shook his head, gone quiet. Steve had left him, and Sam had left too. He'd known he'd been a lot to deal with lately, but maybe it had been too much for them to take…? No, no Steve wouldn't give up on him. Never. He'd be there, right to the end of the line. There was an Avengers thing, in Northern California, apparently. He'd be back, as soon as they were done. James sat himself on the couch, not really planning on moving until Steve got back. He'd ask Steve about the dream when he called. Steve would be really excited, he knew, would hope that maybe more of Bucky's memories would start to come back, instead of just the Winter Soldier's. So James would wait for Steve. He'd always wait for Steve, because Steve would always wait for him.


End file.
